Falls in Sycamore Canyon

Most inviting of all was a little foot path that I could make out through the grassy open places, winding its way along the stream, and leading up the canyon rim to terminate right at my feet.

Surely no other place could be more enchanted. I felt like a child once more living an imaginary fairy tale. I was Alice hurrying after the rabbit, tumbling down the burrow, plunging into a never-never land, stepping into a secret garden with toadstool rings and sprites.

The air was fragrant with the sweet scent of sycamores and the ground was carpeted with last fall's soft brown leaves. Here and there were open, grassy, park-like meadows with wild flowers and butterflies and great trees like I remembered in storybook pictures of Sherwood Forest. Now I was Robin Hood crossing the log bridge, scouting from the tree tops.

I came to a place where the stream was wide and still. There I stopped to rest and admire the shimmering cliffs and trees in this placid mirror and to watch the fishes play in its cool depths. Over and over in my mind I found myself repeating the words, "He maketh me to lie down in the green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters; he restoreth my soul."

Where the path crossed the stream there were neat stepping stones and I soon found myself at Skunk Blvd. and Wildcat Lane. The path led over a fence on a stile with a most attractive rustic rail. What manner of creature lived here? Now I felt more like Snow White in the land of the seven dwarfs, expecting to hear a lusty chorus of "Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho" as the path led me right up to a most mysterious looking cabin.

I must admit, I was quite timid about going close or venturing up on the porch to knock. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if Grumpy, Doc or Sneezy had answered the door, or even the witch from Hansel and Gretel. My fright dissolved the instant the door opened for there were Dick and Jerry with a warm and friendly greeting and looking exactly as I remembered them in the story. This was like a dream, like when you experience something for the first time and have a sensation that you have done the very same thing before. Dick and Jerry invited me in and the first thing to catch my eye was a rather timeworn copy of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS lying on a table, the issue with the Sycamore Canyon story. As I explained my intrusion into this hidden domain, we looked at the pictures. It was quite a thrill to lift my eyes from the page and see the cabin interior just as it was in the magazine, even to the dynamite bread box on the kitchen table.

The old cabin fascinated me. The fireplace, chimney and cabin base were of the same stone once used to build ancient Indian dwellings near by. The hand-axe hewn, interlocked logs bore many a scar that were supposedly made by Apache arrows in their prime nearly three-quarters of a century ago. These two comparisons of the same area northeast of Phoenix, taken approximately four years apart, show a typical example of the rapid subdivision home-spread consuming farmland surrounding the city. Nearly every large block of this almost overnight from-citrus-to-homes development was the work of different subdivision builders. Two homes of identical plan and elevation from Wrigley Terrace, bottom of picture, offer an excellent example of how owner individuality minimizes the look-alike appearance these two homes had when they were built.

Yours Sincerely

A.I.F.T.: ... All of us at the American Institute for Foreign Trade had one of the pleasantest surprises of the year when we received the first copy of the July issue of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS. Publication of the article on AIFT is very timely and inquiries prompted by this article have been received already from Indiana, New Mexico, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, South Carolina, Georgia, New Jersey, Minnesota, New York, Illinois, California and Arizona. These results are certainly gratifying and we know they will continue for quite some time to come as was the case with the story which appeared in September 1950. You might be interested to know that we are mailing a copy of this issue to all of our friends in industry and the educational world throughout the United States.

Stanton S. von Gravill Vice President The American Institute for Foreign Trade Phoenix, Arizona

SHARLOT HALL: ... I have the pleasure of telling you how much I enjoy and admire ARIZONA HIGHWAYS. However, the March issue cannot wait to be included in some session of general praise at a later date. The superb quality of this Grand Canyon number is something about which one must express his enthusiasm now. It is a thing of rare beauty and, in my opinion, is the most impressive issue of the magazine ever published. It could have been a perfection number, indeed, had Elizabeth Fleming McFarland seen fit to include a portion of Sharlot Hall's "Song of the Colorado" in her anthology of Grand Canyon poetry. You were responsible for introducing Sharlot Hall to us in an issue of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS magazine published several years ago, so you can now hardly blame your readers for resenting the omission of her poetry from the anthology. It seems utterly incredible to us that a poetess laureate of Arizona should have been overlooked in the making of the compilation. Here is the final stanza from "Song of the Colorado": "O ye that would hedge and bind meremember whence I cameI, that was, and was mighty, ere your race had breadth or name!

Play with your dreams in the sunshinedelve and toil and plotYet I keep the way of my will to the sea when ye and your race are not!"

If that verse isn't superior to any of the lines of the big name poets included in the McFarland collection then I am a coati mundi.

Lee M. Spicer Los Angeles, Calif.

THE APACHES: ... Allen Reed did a masterful job in presenting the Apache roundup feature in your July issue. The Apaches prove one thing: if given a chance our native Indians can take care of themselves and contribute not only to their own well-being but to the good of all of us.

At one time not a single cow on the entire vast San Carlos reservation was owned by an Indian. When we finally had sense enough to "give the country back to the Indians" and chase off the white cattlemen, it did not take the Apaches long to come into their own. They have used their endless acres wisely and well and, as Mr. Reed pointed out in his article, Apache cattle are just about the best to come off any range.

W. W. Mortimer Dayton, Ohio

INDIAN JEWELRY: ... Your article on Navajo jewelry in August issue was most interesting to me and to others of my friends who have read it. What true artists these fine craftsmen are!

Mrs. H. T. Shalotte Birmingham, Alabama OUR RANCHHAND PHILOSOPHER Certainly, he's not a scholar Who scatters words like so much seed; Or one to fortify his speech By endless quotes of others. Nor does he overanalyze To mix confusion with a thought And twist some simple logic Into a strange fantastic knot. No sir, the few words he uses Have that familiar picture-look One mental glance can comprehend And let you know just where he stands. Now I do not say his ideas Come shining dew-fresh out of space Brought to being altogether By his own contriving; But when you get a bit upset About some hard-shelled problem, He'll drawl a dozen words, and lo, He's cracked it clean wide open.

ELMAS WHEATON FINNELL CATHY FINDS A STAR Down in the corner Of our garden plot She found a special, Secret spot Where a spider was weaving A gossamer thread Into a swaying Cobwebby bed, And there, where jonquils And hollyhocks grew, A star was caught In a drop of dew.

EMILY CAREY ALLEMAN VACATION'S END "I will come back," I told each pine and fir Standing in trim formation as we passed . . . Unnumbered hosts that let no needle stir As windows briefly framed them for the last And long-remembered look. This was goodbye. "I will come back," my heart cried as we rushed To rendezvous with cities and my cry Re-echoed till the forest silence hushed And quietly absorbed the vibrant waves. "I will come back," I told the mountain stream, "But now I must speed on, since man behaves Much in your fashion . . . he pursues a dream Down many a strange and rock-encumbered track. Yes, I know why . . . and I, I will come back!"

MARY E. LINTON

RAINDROP PRISMS

Prisms of rain Cut strips of rainbows From the wane light, The way high winds Cut strips of cloud away Revealing blue lining. Where they find such colors in grey I cannot tell!

ISABELLE COx

OPPOSITE PAGE

"AUTUMN SPLENDOR" BY WILLIAM BLEDSOE. This photograph was taken on the North Rim of Grand Canyon, near Point Imperial, in early October of last year. Camera data: Linhof 4x5 Technika, Ektachrome, Angulon 90 mm lens, 1/10th second at F18. The dazzling red of the turning maple in the setting of green appeared to the photographer like a well set jewel.

BACK COVER "A DESERT AFTERNOON" BY CARLOS ELMER. The photographer says: "This picture was made on the afternoon of Christmas Day, 1953. We had enjoyed one Christmas-package opening at my wife's parents in Monrovia, California, and were on our way to my parents' home in Kingman, Arizona, for another session with St. Nick. After crossing the Colorado River at Topock, we chose to travel the old route of US 66 through Oatman. It was rather strange to drive along the once-busy highway without meeting any cars whatever. Upon reaching the vicinity of Boundary Cone, a large pinnacle near Oatman, we stopped for a few pictures. Upon returning to the car, I noticed the way in which the sun's rays had surrounded each cholla cactus plant with its own little halo, and decided to try a picture looking west toward the Colorado River. This is the type of color picture which the little instruction sheet which accompanies each package of film states cannot be made. It was necessary to shoot toward the sun to obtain the halo effect.

PAUSE FOR AUTUMN Slow smoke tendrils Wisp lazily upward Through the autumn-burnished air; Depleted brittle leaves Are heaped and stored for spring, In musty piles; frost-tanned grass Is bristly with each step, And winter waits with cold patience To tuck tired nature in to rest.

HARRIET CHAPMAN BUTLER